


Love Bites

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff, Love Bites, Smutt, War Table (Dragon Age), War Table Sex, hickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For @nikerek, who prompted me with "a hickey" from a kiss prompt list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Bites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikerek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikerek/gifts).



Few things in the world compared to the pure bliss of Amallia’s lips. The heat of her mouth and velvet tongue enveloped him with practiced skill and Cullen groaned a sigh of ecstasy, shuddering under her ministration. Blazing blues eyes stared into his amber depths, and the sight of her between his thighs, huddled beneath his desk set his hips rolling, slow pumps of his length sliding into her slick mouth.

He wanted nothing more than to finish there and watch her swallow his seed, but they had no time. They would be late to the war room –  _very_  late – if he let her continue, knowing she wouldn’t stop until they were both completely satisfied. The ache for release begged, pleaded, screamed against his will, but will won out as he pulled Amallia back with a firm grasp of her hair.

“Darling, we have to go,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied as she tucked him back into his trousers and retied the laces. With a few delicate swipes of her fingertips, she cleaned her lips. “Just a preview of later.”

Cullen pushed his chair back and Amallia stood as he asked, “Oh? And what do you think we’ll be doing later?”

Her breasts threatened to spill out of her shirt as she leaned over him, the top four buttons unfastened in his haste to have her. With a thigh to either side of his hips, she straddled him, and he resisted the urge to bury his face in her chest. The fresh ocean air that was her scent consumed his senses, wafting up from the heat of her bare skin. Maker, but he wanted her. No,  _needed_  her. He might not make it until the end of the meeting, his urge and tightly wound arousal so near to bursting already. Every muscle in his body ached to do it,  _just take her! Pick her up, lay her on the desk, tear her trousers off, and fuck her!_

The thought fled as Amallia’s lips returned to his flesh at his neck an inch below the ear. Lips sucked while tongue laved and teeth dragged, the skin tightening and pulling as she rolled her hips against his yet bulging manhood. Soft gasps bubbled up in his throat, hands grasping at her backside to urge her onward. Fingertips bit into the supple flesh there, and he wanted more, oh,  _Maker_ , but he  _needed_ her.

Prickling, tingling, Cullen felt the skin beneath her lips swell, pain and pleasure mixing in the perfect balance.

“Mal, I can’t wait …” he whispered, “I need you.”

With a perverted slurping sound, she sucked the spot on his neck dry and pulled back with a grin. “You said we had to go,” she mocked as she stood from his lap. He watched as her eyes traveled from his neck to his groin, then back to his face. “Although, you may want to adjust your cloak to hide …  _that.”_

He looked to the obvious bulge between his thighs, cock twitching in his trousers, begging for attention. A long groan pulled from his chest as he stood on weak legs and he adjusted his cloak as best as he could to hide his arousal until he could will it away.

“It’ll have to do for now,” he grumbled as he stomped to the door, Amallia in tow a step behind.

Across the battlements. they walked to the war room, hand in hand. Their relationship became common knowledge the day they’d sparred – and  _kissed_  – in front of what must have been the entirety of Skyhold. And Cullen thanked the Maker for that; no more embarrassing moments.

Or so he thought.

They entered the war room together, last to join the meeting, and Cullen took his place opposite Amallia across the table. He looked to her and found a pink flush creeping up to her cheeks, deepening to red in an instant as she struggled to hold back a laugh.

To his left, Josephine frowned at the corners of her lips, clearly confused by the situation, for Leliana began to giggle her girlish little giggle that rankled Cullen to no end.

“ _What?_ ” he growled.

Leliana squeaked in surprise at his fierce tone but managed to ask, “Spending quality time together, Commander?” She eyed Amallia and when Cullen turned back to her, he found her doubled over the war table in silent laughter with one hand covering her mouth.

Oh, Maker, they could see it. He didn’t bother to hide his self-inspection, looking to his groin to double-check. But what he found there wasn’t much. He saw nothing besides a slight bend in the fabric of his cloak that hinted at nothing.

When his furious stare returned to Leliana and found her laughing outright, he grumbled, “Care to explain what you find so humorous?”

The spymaster said nothing as she approached him and withdrew a small circular case from a concealed pocket. Prying the clasp apart revealed a mirror that she held up to his neck and angled it so he could see.

“Quality time, indeed,” she jested.

A red splotch the size of a sovereign marred his skin an inch below the ear. The recent memory of Amallia’s lips returned in a flash, and he was back in his office with her in his lap, grinding on his swollen length. His hands moved of their own accord, covering the renewed arousal at his groin as he shot Amallia a glare across the table.

“Leliana,” he began, “may we … post-pone this meeting? The Inquisitor has some unfinished business she must attend to.”

“Commander, we’ll only be a few minutes,” Leliana began but he cut her off.

“Immediately.”

Leliana scoffed with an eye roll, and yet, a smile crept across her lips as she headed for the door. “Tomorrow, then.  _Before_  breakfast!”

Josephine was quick to follow when Cullen turned his glare on her. “And I’ll need to speak with you before the meeting, Inquisitor. Bright and early.”

Before the door shut, he felt the flat of Amallia’s hand glide over the length of his manhood. He gripped the edge of the table, knees weak all over again.

“So,  _Commander._  My quarters, then?” she asked as she tugged him towards the door.

Feet planted, he refused to move, and Amallia released him when she saw he leaned back against the war table. Grasping her backside, he pinned her to his chest, hips rolling against her center. A soft gasp escaped her parted lips, hands gripping his breastplate for leverage.

“Or not,” she whispered, breathless.

From her ass, his hands slipped over her hips and up to her breasts, grasping them with greedy fingers. Thumbs rasped over the fabric, nipples pebbling beneath his touch. So eager, her response immediate with moaning sighs. His gaze locked on her parted lips,  _Maker’s breath,_  those pink, lush lips that knew his body so well, and he had to feel them on his length again.

Past her collarbone, Cullen brought his hands to her shoulders and pressed with a gentle push, lowering her to her knees before him. Wild blue eyes, wide with surprise, stared up at him from her vulnerable position as he untied his laces with slow, teasing fingers.

“How about you pick up where you left off?”


End file.
